


For Every Action

by bobbirose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Felix Felicis, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbirose/pseuds/bobbirose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry wins a second bottle of Felix Felicis from Dean Thomas, he is instructed to take it the very next morning.<br/>What happens then, and how it basically all comes down to Draco Malfoy, is up to the laws of the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Every Action

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS FOR YOU, MYRANDA.
> 
> This was supposed to be like cute and 4-5k and it WASN'T.  
> This is a break from my big huge one I'm writing (Consequences of Redemption, I definitely haven't forgotten), and it's...well, it's unread.  
> Like totally not proofread.  
> I am so tired as I post this, I'm totally not posting this at a good time it's literally 1 in the morning
> 
> This is probably really bad, but Myranda--HERE YOU GO GIRL.

Isaac Newton was perhaps the last true prophet of God.

For every action, he says, there must be an equal and opposite reaction—and Harry Potter, after that night, was a firm believer in cosmic balance.

Because for someone who’s entire life was effectively ruined by happening to be born at the end of July, he could be exceedingly lucky on a fair amount of occasions.

It was a coin toss, really.

After such a shitty summer, too, Harry guessed the universe decided to take a small amount of pity on him by granting him the godsend of a Potions book that was the Property of the Half-Blood Prince. Which had, of course, allowed him to win his own personal vial of Felix Felicis—his own literal liquid luck.

But oh no, the universe hadn’t stopped there.

Deciding, perhaps, that the force against Harry’s ultimately shitty history was not yet equal to its opposition, the ghost of Isaac Newton himself instilled a desire in Dean Thomas to be especially light-fingered during a particular Potions lesson.

This is how—to Harry’s utter _luck_ —a second bottle of Felix Felicis wound up for bids in the Gryffindor common room.

It helped that Dean Thomas was Muggle-born, and decided the way the victor would be decided would be through a good old game of poker.

Figures that Harry Potter happened to be fantastic at poker.

Rubbish at chess, perhaps (magical or not), terrible at Chinese checkers and for some weird reason, pants at go-fucking-fish—but _excellent_ at poker.

And so, on this unassuming Monday night, Harry Potter wound up with two vials of liquid luck in his pocket.

Many had called it unfair—accused him of cheating, even—saying that Harry now had _two_ vials of a potion that he could save and use at his own leisure.

(Never mind the fact that if anyone needed luck, it was Harry.)

Consequently, Dean appeased the angry throng of people by adding the requirement that Harry had to take it all tomorrow morning, instead of saving it, and see what happened.

That, of course, was when the bets began to be placed.

A surprisingly large number of people believed nothing would happen, thinking that Dean was presenting a fake potion.

Another worryingly numerous section were placing outrageous bets on his (nonexistent) love life—anywhere from an impromptu love confession (Harry had snorted) to a loss of virginity (Harry had choked).

Bigger still was the group that seemed to think he’d get Snape fired somehow, and the Creevey brothers were convinced he’d manage to take down Voldemort.

Harry could only hope.

 

The morning after saw Harry waking up to the sound of a truly tempestuous storm raging just outside his window.

Harry groaned. They had Herbology today. Perfect.

_For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction._

His roommates seemed excited, though, and Harry remembered his assignment with a trill of anticipation. Dean especially was watching him eagerly as he swallowed the potion down and set the vial back down on his bedside table.

Almost immediately, a warm trill of what he could describe as electricity sparked through his veins, making the storm outside seem beautiful instead of irritatingly inconvenient.

“Well?” Ron urged, and Harry grinned around at them all.

“I feel great!” he announced, hopping off his bed and looking out the window, the lightning flashes making him grin even wider. “Lightning is really cool, have you ever thought about it?”

Ron shot a worried glance at Dean. “You’re sure you got the right potion?”

“Of course I did,” Dean hissed back, but his eyes showed doubt as they watched Harry actually _prance_ back over to his bed to get dressed.

“Is increased femininity a side effect?” Neville whispered, and earned a shove from Ron.

Harry hoped there were biscuits at breakfast.

 

Lo and behold, there _were_.

“So—you wished for biscuits, you got biscuits,” Ron said, around his mouthful of dough, “think you could, I dunno—wish for an insane amount of money?”

“I don’t think it’s powered by wishing,” Hermione interjected thoughtfully.

“Pretty sure it’s also illegal,” Harry pointed out.

Ron nodded, eyes wandering over to the entrance to the Great Hall. He stiffened suddenly, eyes narrowing.

Harry turned his head in curiosity, and saw what he was looking at with a sick feeling in his stomach.

“He looks just _awful_ ,” Hermione breathed, her eyes wide.

Harry had to agree.

Draco Malfoy looked like absolute hell.

He made his way slowly over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat at the end, away from the rest of the house.

“That reminds me, we’ve got double Potions with the Slytherins first today,” Ron said, taking another biscuit, seemingly unaffected by Malfoy’s deathly appearance. He glanced up at Harry. “Maybe it’ll get cancelled, or something.”

“Maybe,” Harry answered vaguely, eyes still trained on Malfoy.

The blond suddenly looked up, gaze connecting with Harry’s for a second for snapping back down to his empty plate. Harry slowly turned back around to face Ron and Hermione.

 

Potions wasn’t cancelled.

They shuffled into the dungeons, considerably brighter with the presence of Slughorn as opposed to Snape, but made even brighter today with the sudden sunshine outside (for which Dean had nudged and thanked him for) and the potion still running through Harry’s system.

Malfoy still looked like shit, though.

“ _Beautiful_ day all of a sudden, isn’t it?” boomed Slughorn, beaming around at them all.

The Gryffindors tittered, and the Slytherins looked around at them, annoyed.

“Today’s lesson will be done in pairs,” he announced, but held up his hand to cease the immediate nonverbal pairings. “that I will choose _myself_.”

The whole class groaned, half of them looking towards Harry, as if this was all _his_ fault.

He shrugged at them helplessly, doubting whether or not the potion was actually working well or not.

“Miss Granger—I’m pairing you with Miss Abbott,” Slughorn decided, and Hermione and Hannah shot each other shy smiles.

“Mr. Thomas and Mr. Weasley, you two can work in the back,” he continued, and Ron glanced at Harry apologetically before moving over to Dean.

Harry looked at Seamus hopefully, but Seamus was paired with Lavender—Zabini going with Katie Bell, and, finally—

“Mr. Malfoy, if you’d work with Harry today, that should be it!” Slughorn finished, smiling once more and clapping his hands.

Harry blinked, looking blankly at Malfoy, who looked like he’d just been told his kitten had drowned.

_Does Malfoy have kittens?_

Shaking his head, Harry wrote the potion off once and for all as a fluke and took a seat next to Malfoy, who had moved to a desk in the very back, behind Dean and Ron.

“Figures,” Malfoy muttered. “Potter the Potions prodigy.”

Harry ignored him, choosing instead to take the chance to observe Malfoy closely.

Seated right next to him, Harry could see the toll this year had been taking on Malfoy all the more clearly. He looked utterly defeated—grey eyes, dead and sunken, tiredly taking in all around him.

His hair, stringy and actually _messy_ , fell into his face and those unseeing eyes.

He looked like he’d seen Hell, to put it lightly.

And maybe the potion started to work, or maybe Harry was a big fucking idiot, but—

“Jealous, Malfoy?”

The words were out before he could stop them, but he noticed something different about them than what his usual comebacks consisted of.

These words weren’t hissed, or spat, or spoken with the intention of hurting or besting.

They were light, challenging—Harry just _joked_ with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy must have caught the difference as well, for he whipped his head around to stare at Harry in astonishment.

“What the hell are you _on_ , Potter? You flounce in here and sit your arse down next to me like we’re best mates now?” he spat, leaning away from Harry like he was holding something disgusting.

Harry rolled his eyes, marveling at how little Malfoy seemed to be affecting him.

“Maybe I just feel like it’ll be a good day,” Harry replied simply.

Malfoy looked at him like he’d gone insane, his mouth slightly open.

“Whatever, Potter. Just do your fucking work.”

“ _Our_ fucking work, Malfoy. Partners, remember?”

Malfoy sighed. “I’m getting _our_ ingredients, then. Don’t mess anything up.”

Harry snorted, looking back down at his desk.

He was feeling _good_. Like, really _good_. Something was telling him that this was absolutely the right decision—joking around with Draco Malfoy was an especially good tactic.

Ron swung around then, catching Harry’s attention.

“Alright, Harry?” he asked, jerking his head towards Malfoy, who was waiting for ingredients.

Why wouldn’t he be? Harry smiled and nodded, causing Ron to frown a bit. He nodded once, looking confused, and turned back around.

“Slice these.” Malfoy slammed a bottle of dead beetles in front of him, slumping into his chair and sighing.

Harry glanced at his book, noting that the Prince hadn’t indicated any other instruction. He nodded, blindly reaching for the knife Malfoy had gotten.

His hands, rather than touching metal, connected with Malfoy’s fingers, and it was with a spasm of warmth in his ribcage that he yanked his hand back, eyes snapping to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy stared back at him, horrified and shocked, the look on his face so outrageous that Harry found it within himself to actually _laugh_.

“I was only reaching for the knife, Malfoy,” Harry smirked, rather enjoying Malfoy’s discomfort. “You really don’t need to worry about me making a move on you.”

There was a sputter from both beside and in front of him, and Harry glanced up to see Ron looking wildly back and forth between the two of them.

Harry bit back another laugh and shrugged at Ron, who turned reluctantly away when Dean nudged him.

Color was rising quite prettily in Malfoy’s otherwise bloodless face, making him actually look healthier than he had since the start of term.

“Here’s your damned knife, then,” Malfoy muttered darkly, pushing the blade towards Harry. “I have a very strong inclination to use it on you rather creatively, be warned.”

And it was true—Harry saw with a spark of curiosity something dangerous flash in Malfoy’s eyes, adding to his sudden livelier appearance.

“Kinky,” Harry remarked, completely kidding, but still recognizing this was unlike any other conversation he’d had before.

Under the influence of this truly beautiful magic Harry had coursing through his veins, he did believe right then that today was a day for firsts.

And…well, whatever this was, it was certainly a first.

Malfoy suddenly stilled, his expression shifting. He seemed calmer, all of a sudden, more collected—in control.

“Would you like that, Potter?” he practically pursed, daring to actually _smirk_ at Harry—purely predatory.

Oh, okay.

Harry was sincerely shocked, feeling heat in his cheeks and neck but somehow still rising to the challenge Malfoy presented.

“I’d rather anyone hold my hand than slit my throat,” Harry replied, nonchalantly. “But I guess the middle of the spectrum isn’t so clearly defined.”

Malfoy blinked, a tiny, miniscule smile curving probably unconsciously on his lips.

“You should explore that side of yourself, Potter. Do you some good.”

Harry grinned. “You offering?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Absolutely fucking _not_ , Potter.”

This didn’t deter Harry at all.

“We’ll see,” he replied lightly, continuing to slice the beetle.

Malfoy frowned. “Potter— _seriously_. What is _wrong_ with you today?”

Harry shrugged. “Who says there’s something wrong with me?”

Malfoy let out a bark of sardonic laughter, causing Ron’s head to whip around in their direction. “There has _always_ been something wrong with you, Potter—that much is obvious.”

“Good one,” Harry remarked dryly, and Malfoy glared at him.

“But suddenly, today of all days the sun starts shining and you decide to _flirt_ with me?” he continued, lip curling.

“You flirted with _me_ too,” Harry pointed out.

Malfoy stared at him incredulously.

“We hate each other,” he said slowly, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“A valid concern,” he replied, but his mind was screaming at him that it really absolutely wasn’t. “But I’m rather thinking that it doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely matters!”

“Why?” Harry challenged, raising his eyebrows and folding his arms.

“It does,” Malfoy hissed. “It just _does_. Trust me, it _does_.”

“Okay,” Harry sighed, turning back to the instructions page. “Whatever you say.”

The two worked in silence for a few more minutes, Harry secretly following the Prince’s thankfully minimal instructions (and only on his assigned parts) when needed.

“Where’s the lavender?” Harry asked, scanning their shared desk space for the dried purple.

“It’s right…oh,” Malfoy said, realizing that he had forgotten it.

“I’ll get it,” Harry offered, but Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself,” he snapped, rising up.

“Sure,” Harry replied, earning another death glare.

He dropped the sliced beetles in the cauldron, checking the temperature absently. The potion turned bright red, and Harry grimaced. It was supposed to be much darker than that, according to the instructions. It was probably the lavender, he reasoned, if for no other reason than the blame Malfoy. He looked up to check if he was coming back, but saw Malfoy marching up to Professor Slughorn, a sour look on his face.

“Professor, I think you’re out of lavender,” he said, barely refraining from gritting his teeth.

Slughorn clapped a hand to his forehead.

“I _knew_ I had forgotten something! I was supposed to pick some up from Professor Sprout—Harry! Harry m’boy!”

Harry got to his feet at the sound of his name, all eyes locking onto him. “Yes, Professor?”

“Accompany Mr. Malfoy to fetch some lavender from Professor Sprout, will you? I’d get it myself, but I have an awful ache in my leg…”

Harry glanced at his fellow classmates, amused at their expressions of confusion and doubt. Dean looked the most bewildered, as if trying to figure out how the potion could have been a fake.

Because wasn't this just his lucky day?

Only Hermione, predictably, seemed to have some grasp of what was going on. She had sucked in a breath, eyes widened and looking between Harry and Malfoy with a look of disbelief. Harry wisely avoided her gaze.

“Absolutely, Professor,” Harry replied, nodding once and waiting for Malfoy to hurry up to his side.

They left the classroom without looking at each other or back at the class, all of whom were watching them leave.

Reaching the stairs without incident should have qualified them both for an award, the silence that had existed between them for a good ten minutes being made incredibly awkward as soon as they stepped out of the room.

Thanks to his potion, Harry was much more at ease than Malfoy, who seemed to be having some sort of personal crisis as they walked down the empty hallway, trying to get to the first floor.

In fact, to Harry’s dismay, he looked as he had looked since they had returned from summer vacation.

Harry decided then, in true Felix Felicis fashion, to test his luck.

He stepped inches closer to Malfoy, so that the sleeves of their robes brushed.

Malfoy looked at him, a guarded expression on his face, and said nothing.

Harry took that as a win.

A step closer, and their fingers brushed—

“Potter. Stop harassing me.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic, Mal—“

Harry was suddenly wrenched back, confused eyes meeting Malfoy’s dark and intent ones before his back hit the wall of the corridor, head knocking back against the stone. Malfoy’s hand on his shoulder and arm pinned him back, but Harry found himself ultimately paralyzed by Malfoy’s stare—the look of hunger, of challenge, of desire—as Malfoy leaned in close, his face mere inches from Harry’s.

“This is where you’re heading, Potter,” Malfoy breathed, his eyes flicking to Harry’s lips, deliberately, and back up again. “ _Dangerous_ waters.”

Harry’s heart was slamming against his chest, feeling the thrum of heat throughout his body in the small space between them.

“I…” he started, and Malfoy raised his eyebrows, pressing him more into the wall. Harry swallowed, lifting his chin. “I have a knack for survival,” he finished.

He only barely saw the flash of something undefinable in Malfoy’s eyes before his lips came crashing down on Harry’s, his body pressing against Harry’s in one swift move.

Harry had expected this—his mind clear of any thoughts that Felix Felicis hadn’t put there. And all Felix seemed to be telling Harry was how amazing it felt.

Which was completely true—the domineering way Malfoy kissed, biting at Harry’s bottom lip so Harry gasped and opened his mouth, Malfoy’s tongue snaking in to tangle with his.

Maybe it was the potion that made him so incredibly _sensitive_ to Malfoy’s touch, but he couldn’t understand how that would be a side effect.

This feeling was different from the confidence and giddiness that Felix had instilled in him. This was intensity, tinged with an outer layer of desperation that Malfoy never had before, a general spiraling instability that Harry could taste.

Harry’s left hand went up to pull Malfoy even closer by twisting in his hair, his right choosing to fist in Malfoy’s robes.

He had never done, or felt, anything remotely like this.

Malfoy broke apart, leaving them both gasping for breath and completely indecent. Malfoy stepped away, Harry’s hands falling from him.

“You’re going to drown, Potter,” he breathed, holding Harry’s gaze for a few moments before turning away.

“I was fine just then,” Harry responded, resisting the urge to put his hand to his still-tingling lips. They felt swollen—Malfoy hadn’t been gentle.

Malfoy glanced back at him. “That was nothing,” he said, spinning away continue down the hallway.

Harry pushed himself off of the wall, his breathing lowering back to normal and his eyes glued to Malfoy’s retreating form.

Determination surged through him as he ran to catch up, Malfoy refusing to look at him.

“Look,” Harry said, as if nothing untoward had happened, “you don’t want a relationship with me.”

Malfoy laughed, his eyes widening in shock. “ _Very_ well spotted, Potter.”

“I don’t want a relationship with you,” Harry continued, as if Malfoy hadn’t spoken. “That being said, I think you’re a pretty fantastic kisser.”

Malfoy slowed, and looked at him sideways. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that we do that again,” Harry said simply. “We don’t have to tell anyone.”

“What makes you want to do that?”

Harry wanted to say that it was because Malfoy looked more like a living person than he had in months when he kissed him, that he obviously needed _something_ keeping him going, from dropping dead—and if this was it, that was suddenly completely fine with Harry.

Felix, however, told him Malfoy wouldn’t take _any_ of that well at all, so Harry just shrugged, allowing a half smile to spread on his lips.

“I just do,” he answered.

Malfoy sighed. “It’s… _such_ a bad idea, Potter. Disastrous.”

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Harry sang.

Malfoy fell silent, and they both continued their walk without further conversation, except for Harry’s snort of laughter when he noticed Malfoy trying to discreetly rearrange his hair.

They walked out of the main hall and into the air, thankful the sunny weather made it a little warmer than it would have been.

It was the least aggravated silence their had ever been between the two—no one was seething quietly with rage like the last time they had been partnered together (fourth year, Charms— _fucking_ catastrophic), and they weren’t actively trying to antagonize the other.

Maybe it was because Harry could tell Malfoy was actually considering his proposition, which Harry knew he probably wouldn’t have even made on any other day than this one.

But he _had_ suggested it, and with the sun shining down on both of them and the potion addling Harry’s very brain chemistry, he couldn’t help but think it was still a _fantastic_ idea.

It wasn’t until they reached the greenhouses that Malfoy agreed with him.

“Potter,” he said quietly, just as Harry had raised his hand to knock on the first door. Harry looked at him expectantly.

“Yes, Malfoy?” he said sweetly, and Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m in,” he said.

Harry blinked, looking Draco up and down, before his mouth settled into a grin.

“Stop smiling.”

“But I have such a pretty smile!”

“Knock on the damn door, Potter.”

 

“Your homework,” Slughorn called, his voice rising easily above the noise of students clamoring to leave, “is to write a foot and a half on the Moonshine Potion—and _specifically_ , I want your opinion on if its effects are too risky for its continued usage!”

Harry glanced over to Hermione, whose face lit up. He snorted to himself, imagining that she had a very vocal opinion on the risks vs reward situation of the Moonshine Potion. Ron groaned loudly, and Dean sniggered beside him.

Malfoy gathered his things silently, occasionally glancing at Harry, but opting not to say anything. Harry kept a small smile on his face for him, perceptible only when Malfoy looked at him.

Malfoy left abruptly, striding out of the door and disappearing up the stairs without so much of a word.

Harry expected as much.

“Harry!”

Harry turned to Ron, a grim smile pasted on his face.

“Rotten luck,” Ron said, clapping him on the back.

Dean looked nervous. “I’m gonna get hell for this, I really don’t know why it didn’t work!”

Harry laughed, both at the irony and the look on Dean’s face. “It’s alright,” he assured him.

“People had a lot of money riding on this!”

“Harry.”

Hermione’s voice chimed in next to him, and he glanced down at her. Her expression made his smile falter, and her hand on her arm holding him back made him drop the act altogether. When Ron and Dean, still carrying on about bets, were well out of earshot, Hermione dragged Harry out the door and took him down an empty corridor, going the long way back to the common room.

“You and I both know that potion worked,” she began sternly, slowing their pace.

“So?” Harry answered casually.

Hermione sighed. “ _So_ ,” she continued, “your ‘lucky day’ consists, apparently, of a class basically alone and a solitary assignment with Draco Malfoy.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, but the potion in him helped him maintain his composure.

“Maybe I was just lucky we didn’t kill each other?” he answered easily, a nonchalantly questioning tone fitting his words nicely.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“What are you implying?” Harry asked, a confused expression painting itself across his face.

“What happened between you and Malfoy?” Hermione hissed.

Harry’s mouth popped open. “You think— _Hermione!_ ”

She eyed him determinedly, arms crossed, while he hoped his face conveyed the perfect expression of surprise and shock.

“You’re insane,” Harry told her firmly. “Nothing _happened_ —it’s _Malfoy_!”

“I was going to tell you the same thing,” she snapped, and stalked away before Harry could get another word out.

He sighed, watching her retreat the other way down the corridor. She rounded the corner without looking back and he turned away, continuing on the long path back to Gryffindor tower.

“Potter!”

Harry stopped, looking around. “Malfoy?”

Malfoy stepped out from behind the corner just ahead of Harry, a haughty expression plastered quickly over his obvious relief Hermione hadn’t seen him.

His eyes, however, concerned Harry more. They were unreadable, which was strange—Harry had always found Malfoy fairly easy to read. Mostly because, he supposed, Malfoy had never really tried to hide any emotion from him—not until this year, anyway.

“You took Felix Felicis?” he asked, his voice neutral.

Harry’s heart sank, said potion offering him no sort of advice.

“I…yeah,” he replied.

“That’s why all of that happened,” Malfoy continued, nodding slowly to himself.

Harry hesitated. “Hard to say,” he replied lamely.

“But your lucky day—the best day you can have, according to Slughorn—and you’re partnered with _me_. You kiss _me_.”

Harry smiled. “Guess so,” he answered. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

Malfoy continued to stare at him.

“I don’t understand,” he said finally, blinking. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I must like you or something.”

Malfoy stepped closer to him, doubt crossing his eyes. “You like me. All of a sudden.”

“You like me,” Harry countered, and Malfoy scoffed. “You do!”

“Show your work,” Malfoy sneered.

“Sure,” Harry replied, emboldened.  He stepped closer to Malfoy, a sort of return move. “I don’t know what this year has been about for you. But I know you feel like—and look like—actual hell.”

A pained expression came over Malfoy’s face and he dropped his eyes.

“But when you’re with me,” Harry continued, “when all of this happened today, you looked _alive_. Like when you used to taunt me between classes or play Quidditch or laugh with your friends.”

Malfoy’s eyes met his again.

“You _like_ me,” Harry concluded proudly.

Malfoy looked at him, the agonized expression still in his eyes. “You don’t want to get into this, Potter.”

“People have been telling me what to do and how to think my whole life,” Harry shrugged. “I never listen.”

“Well, start now,” Draco replied stubbornly.

“No,” Harry said.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Harry marched forward and grabbed Malfoy by his waist, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck to bring Malfoy’s lips to his own.

Malfoy stiffened in surprise, so Harry deepened the kiss and brought the hand on the back of his neck to gently rest on his jaw.

For a few moments, Malfoy relaxed slowly into it, wrapping his own arms around Harry and letting the boy kiss him hurriedly and unapologetically, very different than their first kiss a mere hour ago.

Harry broke away gently, and Malfoy let a long breath out, looking at his feet, arms still caging Harry against him.

“I’m going to go,” Malfoy whispered, stepping back.

“Okay,” Harry answered. “So…see you?”

Malfoy hesitated, searching him for a second. Harry smiled helpfully.

He gave a stiff nod and walked off.

“Draco—“ Harry called after him, and Malfoy stopped dead.

“What did you call me?” he asked, still facing away from Harry.

“I called you Draco,” Harry realized, blinking as Malfoy—well, _Draco_ , now—turned slowly around to face him.

And then Draco rushed at him—grabbing his face and kissing him roughly and quickly before stepping away again, leaving Harry breathless and confused as he all but ran back down the corridor the way Hermione had gone minutes earlier.

“Okay,” Harry exhaled, for the benefit of no one but himself.

Shaking his head once and trying to expel the grin off his face, he continued along the hallway.

 

He reached the Fat Lady without running into anymore nosy friends or whatever Malfoy— _Draco_ —was to him now, spoke the password and entered inside without a second thought.

A wave of shouts greeted him, stopping him short just outside of the portrait hole.

Hermione was in the center of it all, the only one not looking at him and her attention firmly focused on a book.

“Did the potion ever work, Harry?” Dean asked anxiously, appearing suddenly to his right.

“Er—“

“Are you mad at Dean for giving you a faulty potion?” a girl who he’d never known the name of asked him, her big eyes earnest.

“No, I—“

“Did someone fall in love with you, Harry?”

“Harry, did you beat Malfoy up?”

That one caught his attention. He turned to the second year who’d spoken sharply. “Wait, what?”

The second year eagerly opened his mouth again, but he found himself yanked away by a sudden hand on his arm.

He turned to see Ginny marching him through the throng of people to an edge of the common room, the voices dying down as he was yanked away from the fray.

Hermione caught sight of them and she flushed, standing up suddenly and retreating quickly up the steps to the girls’ dormitory.

“Hey—Ginny, I was talking to someone!”

“He was making shit up,” she retorted, shoving him roughly against a wall and standing in front of him, fire red hair cascading everywhere as her eyes blazed at him, her mouth set in a firm line and her arms crossed.

“What’s this about?” he asked, opting for the innocent approach.

“Hermione told me. All of it.”

Harry’s face hardened. “Is she still on that? She doesn’t know anything!”

“She knows what she saw.”

“What she _saw_ is me sitting next to Draco in class and not holding a wand to his throat. That’s _all_.”

Ginny snorted.

“What?” Harry asked, irritated. Why wasn’t she buying this? Why was everyone so intent that he hooked up with Draco?

Well, he kind of did, but that was beside the point.

“You just called him _Draco_ ,” Ginny replied, her lip curling.

Harry shut his mouth with an audible noise.

_Well, shit. Nice one._

“And anyway, she saw you guys in class. And you’re right—that’s not enough to send anyone to Azkaban, so she stuck around.” Ginny continued.

“Yeah, she talked to me after class—“

“ _After_ that,” she interrupted impatiently.

Harry’s mouth hung open.

“Attractive,” she deadpanned, eyeing the slack of shock on his face.

“She saw…”

“You and Malfoy. In the corridor. And she heard you.”

“Oh.”

“Pretty damning, according to her.”

“Well, it…yeah,” Harry wasn’t looking at him, his eyes glued to the floor in front of Ginny’s feet, feeling like he’d just been thrown off of a cliff.

“She told Ron as well.”

Harry’s eyes snapped back up, a cold rush of dread rushing through him.

“He’s up in the dormitories.”

Harry swallowed.

She raised her eyebrows. “I know Ron’s not much of a hexer, per say, but I wouldn’t do anything else to antagonize him.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “Other than kissing Draco Malfoy?”

She smiled sadly at him, her posture and expression relaxing.

“Is there any use telling you you’re literally the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met?” she sighed.

Harry grinned.

“Even though I grew up with six brothers?”

Harry laughed. He liked Ginny, he really did. As much as Hermione thought he should be with her, he still really couldn't think of her as anything other than a friend.

“Go talk to Ron,” she finished, smiling grimly at him one more time before disappearing back into the crowd.

He sighed and made his way up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, pushing the door open and pausing when he saw Ron alone on his bed, facing away from Harry and not looking around at him when he came in.

“Ron.” Harry started, but Ron didn’t turn around. “I…don’t have an explanation.”

Ron turned around, a bemused expression on his face. “No explanation?”

Harry shook his head.

“Mate, you know I don’t give a fuck if you hook up with random blokes or girls or whoever you want,” Ron told him, but Harry didn’t relax.

“But?” he prompted, and Ron got off the bed, crossing his arms in a weakened image of Ginny.

“But— _Malfoy_?” he sputtered, his voice pleading. “I mean—you could have _anyone_ —and _him?_ The _ferret?_ ”

Harry pursed his lips. “It seemed…okay at the time,” he replied, and Ron laughed shortly, bewildered.

“How in _any_ universe would that _ever_ be okay?!”

Harry said nothing.

“In fact, the universe probably has some divine law about this. Some edict that says, like, ‘Potters shall not shag Malfoys’ or something and you’re going to get struck by lightning in your bed.” Ron continued, shaking his head at Harry, his eyes still wide and shocked.

“A universal law?” Harry repeated, a corner of his mouth turning up despite himself.

“Seriously, why _him_?” Ron all but whined, searching Harry desperately.

“Because…” Harry laughed under his breath and shook his head, ducking his head down. “Because for every action, there must be an equal and opposite reaction.”

Ron blinked. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Ask Hermione,” Harry replied, before darting out of the dormitory.

He ran back down the steps, an idea forming in his mind.

It was absolutely insane.

Like, it was fucking crazy.

But today, apparently, was his lucky day.

 

Harry stood in front of the stone gargoyles that dutifully guarded Dumbledore’s office, hesitating for the first time since he had originally thought of his idea.

He still knew Dumbledore was his best shot—Dumbledore wanted all of his students safe and happy, no matter who they were affiliated with. And even if he had not believed Harry earlier about Draco’s involvement with evil plots and Voldemort, Harry hoped that he would not hesitate to make sure Draco was safe.

Because Harry had a bad feeling, a premonition in his gut he had been carrying since the first time he’d seen Draco this year that the boy was in terrible danger—and perhaps being made to do terrible things.

And Harry had never wanted that—maybe he never actively wished for Draco to be… _happy_ , so to speak, but to wish this evil onto anyone was beyond his sense of vengeance.

Harry was also sixteen, and Draco was also a fantastic kisser, a sentiment Harry had expressed both out loud and in his mind many times over the past few hours.

“Lemon meringue,” Harry said decisively to one gargoyle, who rolled his eyes with a muttered “finally” and slid aside.

Harry darted up the stairs, pausing outside of the door. He took a deep breath and knocked, receiving a soft “come in” as a reply.

He opened the door cautiously, and found Dumbledore sitting at his desk, surveying Harry over the top of his spectacles.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted him, gesturing the chair in front of his desk that always seemed to be there. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Er—I’m sorry for intruding,” Harry began tactfully, taking the offered seat. “I have something—someone—I’d like to…um, discuss.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and smiled encouragingly.

“I want Draco Malfoy safe,” Harry said firmly, trying not to sound like he had just blurted it out. He lifted his chin slightly when he saw Dumbledore’s eyebrows raise even higher in surprise.

The professor said nothing, his old blue eyes intensifying as he looked Harry up and down. Harry tried to squirm under the gaze.

“You believe Mr. Malfoy is in danger?” he asked finally, and Harry nodded, relieved.

“I think Voldemort is making him do something,” he said, “I think he’s behind the stuff that’s been happening and I think he’s in trouble.”

“What has brought this sentiment on so suddenly, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Harry swallowed. “I never wanted this for him.”

“I didn’t think you wanted anything for him,” Dumbledore replied easily, and Harry felt his face heat.

“I—I didn’t, I just…I don’t think he should be unsafe.” Harry concluded, avoiding Dumbledore’s eyes.

“You want me to make sure he is protected?” Dumbledore guessed.

“Can’t you?” Harry asked, worry seeping into his heart. He tried to keep the sudden desperation he felt out of his voice.

Dumbledore dropped his eyes to his desk, sighing softly. “I would certainly be able to,” he answered, “but I do not think Mr. Malfoy’s reception to this would be particularly favorable.”

“I think I can do it,” Harry said confidently, sitting up straighter.

If there was one thing this damned potion would be good for, it was this.

“What makes you think you have that capability? Not that I will ever doubt you, but out of curiosity?” Dumbledore asked, tilting his head to the side and looking at him even more curiously.

Harry shrugged. “I feel lucky, I guess,” he replied.

 

Harry hadn’t dared go back to the common room before dinner, so he sat instead in the library, trying in vain to concentrate on the book he had in front of him. He was researching the effects of Moonshine potion, objectively vital information to have, but he couldn't help focusing on anything but Draco.

Not just his plan to ensure his safety, either, but rather the general idea of the Slytherin. Like, the general idea of how he smiled. The general idea of the sound of his laugh. The vague remembrance of what it felt like to kiss him.

What else Harry would like to do.

How his eyes had to be more of a silver than gray.

And more on his smile—how when he didn’t really know he was smiling it’d be half of his mouth turned up, the curve of his lips slight and his eyes suddenly shining.

Nothing really specific.

“Potter.”

Harry was shocked out of his reverie by the same boy his reverie had been in the name of—jumping so hard his knee hit the underside of the table, Harry whipped his head around to see Draco staring down at him uncomfortably.

Harry looked behind him and around him and realized that they were, in fact, alone in the library.

A thrill went through Harry at the thought, and he resisted the urge to physically shake his head.

“Draco?”

Draco looked away. “I’m still Draco to you?”

Harry blinked. “Well…yeah, I guess you are.”

Draco took a breath, still not meeting Harry’s eyes. “Potter, I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve thought it through enough for right now,” Harry replied stubbornly, standing up.

Draco shook his head.

“You like me,” Harry reminded him, and it miraculously didn’t come out as a whine.

“I can’t like you,” Draco answered immediately, almost defensive.

“But you do,” Harry protested.

“But I can’t.” Draco whispered.

Harry was on him in an instant, grabbing the front of his robes and pulling him closer, capturing Draco’s lips with his.

Draco responded immediately, placing a hand on the small of Harry’s back and opening his mouth as Harry all but licked his way in.

“You like me,” Harry gasped again as Draco walked him backwards against the table.

“You’re too damn good, Potter,” Draco growled, attacking Harry’s mouth again, his hands filling Harry with warmth.

Harry grinned in triumph, his lips curving against Draco’s mouth.

Draco’s fingers stroked the skin above the fabric of his jeans, trailing under the hem of his shirt, making Harry push farther into him, seeking more than the light, teasing gestures.

“Anyone could see us,” Draco said, drawing back a bit.

“No one’s here,” Harry countered, still grinning. He rolled his hips a bit, trying to illustrate as best he could just how much visibility didn’t matter at the moment.

Draco groaned, pulling back and grabbing Harry’s hand.

They sort of ran to the back of the library, really, finding a dusty old section on cauldron maintenance (“Oh, finally,” Harry had deadpanned, and reveled in the sight of Draco biting back a laugh). It was dark in the corner they had found, dust particles floating around in the air and visible in the slim ray of light that penetrated the dark seclusion through the window slit in the wall.

“You’re so not funny, Potter,” Draco said, pressing Harry against a bookshelf.

“I so am,” Harry replied, winding his arms around Draco’s neck as the Slytherin leaned down to cover Harry’s mouth with his one, Draco’s tongue immediately darting out to run along Harry’s bottom lip, making him shiver from the slide of lips against tongue.

“What do you want to do?” Draco asked, his voice low and husky as he moved from Harry’s mouth to his neck, kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Uhm,” Harry said, trying to clear away the cloud of lust in his brain. “I…”

Draco slid a hand down the front of Harry’s jeans, brushing the hardness he found there.

“You obviously want to do _something_ ,” Draco drawled, suddenly nipping the skin he had been kissing, making Harry jump and groan.

“I think…whatever you had in mind…would be fine,” Harry breathed out, closing his eyes and thumping his head back against the books as Draco deftly undid the button on his jeans.

“Wait,” Harry suddenly said, placing his hands on Draco’s chest. “I have an idea,” he said, locking eyes with the boy as he slowly reversed their positions.

Without taking his eyes away from Draco’s, Harry slowly sank to his knees, trailing his hands down Draco’s body as he went.

Draco’s eyes widened and his lips parted, a flash of worry in his eyes. “Are—are you sure?”

Harry nodded, a smile on his lips, undoing Draco’s trousers with one hand.

Draco watched him, breathless, as Harry pushed his pants down over his hips, revealing Draco’s fully hard cock, the tip already glistening. He glanced once around them to make sure they were still totally alone.

“That batty librarian is still around here somewhere,” Harry whispered, taking Draco in his hand and pumping once, making Draco groan. “You’re going to have to be a bit quiet.”

“Fuck, Potter,” Draco gasped, and Harry raised his eyebrows, still slowly pumping his hand.

“Seriously? Call me Harry,” he instructed, and Draco could barely nod before Harry suddenly took the head into his mouth.

Draco’s breath stuttered out, his eyes fluttering and torso lurching forwards. His hand immediately came to twine in Harry’s hair, straining with the effort of stilling his hips.

Harry grinned and released him, resuming his hand motion and choosing to press open-mouthed kisses all along the underside of the shaft, the hand in his hair tightening and pulling, the breathy moans from Draco above him making him grin wider.

“You—you smile a lot,” Draco managed, blinking down at Harry.

“You’re giving me a lot to smile about,” Harry replied, shuffling closer so he could try and take all of Draco in his mouth.

He had never done this before, but he quickly realized that there was little way to do any of it incorrectly—just about anything he did resulted in some kind of noise from Draco or involuntary movement of his hips.

He bobbed his head, fairly certain that was what he was supposed to do, and got a low moan out of Draco.

Harry laughed a bit despite himself, but due to his current state he only managed an amused hum, and Draco’s hips surged forward, surprising Harry. He glanced up to see Draco staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, biting hard on his finger to prevent him from crying out.

Harry hummed again, backing off and going back down, trying relatively successfully to run his tongue down the side of Draco’s cock as he did so.

“H—Harry,” Draco panted, his lips trembling and hand in Harry’s hair pulling again. “I’m—I’m close—“

Harry nodded, getting the sudden idea to bob down once more and _suck_ , bringing his mouth slowly back up.

Draco shuddered, his hips trembling and whimpering around his hand and his hand tightened in Harry’s hair once more as he came, spilling all on Harry’s tongue.

Harry blinked, swallowing on instinct and backed off slowly, wiping his mouth and trying not to make a face at the taste.

He stood up, unable to keep from smiling again as Draco did up his trousers again.

“You—holy shit,” Draco breathed out, his wide eyes finding Harry’s.

“You’re welcome,” Harry laughed, a bit awkwardly, and Draco dove in to kiss him again.

Harry had the absurd urge to hug him, but settled for kissing him back, wrapping his arms around Draco’s entire being.

Draco suddenly stuck a leg between Harry’s, his thigh pressing up against Harry’s crotch.

“Oh yeah,” Harry mumbled breathlessly, made aware of his now aching hardness, and Draco laughed.

He replaced his leg with his hand, gently massaging Harry’s cock through his pants and jeans. Harry closed his eyes and shuddered, the pleasure rocketing through him immediately.

Draco began trailing kisses along his cheek, jaw and then his neck, Harry’s breath coming harder and harder as he grinded against Draco’s hand.

“Hmm,” Draco hummed against Harry’s neck, making the skin vibrate and Harry melt.

“ _Jesus_.” He grasped the back of Draco’s neck, arching into the filthy way Draco was now mouthing against his skin.

Draco smoothly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing his pants down without looking, something Harry found vaguely impressive in the back of his mind.

His fingers were still only trailing over the outrageously sensitive skin, his hand in a vague grasping position.

“What…what do I have to do, say please?” Harry asked, chest heaving, turning his head to the side to look Draco in the eyes.

Draco moved to the front of him, the silver color in them matching the molten hue and intensity Harry had first seen in the hallway earlier.

 _Jesus, was that just earlier today?_ He thought, reaching a tentative hand to Draco’s jaw.

“Yes, _Harry_ ,” he growled, moving still closer. “ _Beg_.”

Harry gasped, bringing his other hand to Draco’s face, so that he was framing his face.

“Draco,” he breathed, “ _please_.”

His eyes both softened slightly and darkened, but a devious smirk graced his lips as he finally grasped Harry firmly in his hand, making Harry’s mouth fall open in surprise. His eyes never left Draco’s as he stroked him slowly, feeling each motion with an onslaught of an electrifying pleasure, Draco tilting his head closer, his eyes still drilling into Harry’s.

Soon they were sharing breath, Harry panting, Draco’s hard but controlled. Harry eyed his lips, still a bit swollen and dented from where Draco had to bite his lips to contain his noise.

“F—fuck,” Harry moaned, as Draco’s hand sped up and his breath ghosted over Harry’s lips.

“Like that, _Harry_?” Draco whispered, ducking forward and kissing him quickly, biting down on his bottom lip.

Harry thrust into his hand, trembling to contain himself in this still relatively public place, his hands scrambling now for Draco’s robes, his neck, his face.

“Close?” Draco let the word out on a breath in his ear, a rush of tingling warmth running through Harry.

 _God_ , he was.

“I’m—yes,” he said simply, closing his eyes.

“Look at me,” Draco demanded, and Harry’s eyes flew open.

His green irises met Draco’s gray ones, the color of literal melted silver.

Draco swiped his hand over the head and pumped once more, lips parting in concentration as he stared into Harry’s eyes, and it could be argued that it was Draco’s eyes that did Harry in.

“Oh— _Draco,_ ” Harry cried out, trying to be quiet and resulting in a sort of choke that Draco smirking in triumph as Harry spilled into Draco’s hand, shuddering against the boy and finally collapsing.

Draco cast a silent cleaning charm and Harry quickly fixed his pants and trousers, red in the face but sated.

Everything was a bit hazy and aglow in the warmth of the aftereffects of…what had just happened, and Harry was amazed he was able to find Draco’s mouth again.

But he did, and he kissed him languidly—hands on jaws and thumbs stroking faces, tongues rolling and sliding together in a slow and endless dance as their breathing and heart rates returned to normal.

Draco broke away first, staring at Harry like he hadn’t really seen him before, his eyes drinking in the planes of Harry’s face like a man dying of thirst.

“You like me,” Harry told him, positive his smile was audible in his voice.

“I like you,” Draco affirmed, his eyes suddenly turning sad. “Which is why that was probably a mistake.”

Harry blinked. “A mistake?”

Draco searched him for a moment and stepped back. “You don’t know my life, Harry. You can’t be a part of it.”

A shock of anger passed through Harry at his words. “How can you say that?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off. “Of course I’m a part of your life, I have always been a part of your life.”

“Harry—“

“Listen, Draco. I know you’re in trouble. I know you…you’re not happy, you’re _doing_ something.”

The blood seemed to visibly drain out of Draco’s face, his saddened expression turning into a horrified agony.

“I can help protect you, I can make you safe—“

Draco stumbled back, shaking his head. “I have to—Harry—no. You can’t protect me.”

Harry stepped forward. “Watch me. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Draco’s lip trembled and he sucked in a shuddering breath. His eyes wildly searched Harry’s, looking for something Harry was desperately trying to supply.

Draco bolted.

Harry started after him, but as Draco turned a corner to go back to the main library, Harry realized it would do no good.

There was only one way out now.

 

Harry got to dinner late.

Well, technically both he and Draco were late, but Draco had already arrived. All of Gryffindor looked up as he arrived, but his eyes were focused on the Slytherin table.

Draco hadn’t looked up, but Harry was sure he knew Harry had arrived. He glanced up at the staff table and saw Dumbledore watching him with the same curious expression as he had in his office. He nodded once, turned on his heel and marched over to the Slytherin table.

The Gryffindors exploded into whispers and even some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were now watching with interest.

Draco looked up as Harry approached, his eyes widening in surprise and fear.

The Slytherins jeered as he got closer, but he hardly heard them as he slid into the seat next to Draco at the end of the table.

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing.” Draco hissed at him through clenched teeth, entire body rigid and hardly daring to glance to the side at Harry.

“I think I’m saving your life,” Harry replied, facing Draco full on and speaking so that no one else could hear.

“What is _Potter_ doing here?” Pansy Parkinson screeched, her pug-nosed face scrunching even more at the sight of Harry at her precious table.

Harry glared at her before turning back to Draco.

“If I’m lucky,” he continued, his voice still low, “you’ll be smart. There is an easy way out of all of this. Let yourself be with me. Let me keep you safe, Draco. Let me kiss you, in front of everyone here, and kiss me back, to let them all know I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Draco’s head slowly turned to face Harry, his breath shallow and his expression guarded.

“Or you can shove me away right now,” Harry offered, his heart hardening at his own words. “Hex me, push me away, hit me, scream at me. Let them know you’ll never affiliate yourself with me. Keep living in danger, in fear. That’s your out.”

Draco continued to stare, disbelieving.

“Why?” he breathed.

Harry smiled. “Because I like you,” he answered. “And today is a good day.”

He leaned forward, slowly, assessing Draco the whole time. Half of Slytherin house got to its feet, but no one dared to move, dared to breathe, including Harry and Draco.

 He reached a hand out and cupped Draco’s jaw, smiling assuredly to him before closing his eyes and finally pressing his lips to Draco’s.

The entire Great Hall probably exploded, but Harry wouldn’t have known it. He was centered entirely on Draco.

The boy was holding his breath, still completely stiff under Harry’s lips.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry whispered, against his mouth, and Draco whimpered, suddenly surging forward and kissing Harry back with all he had.

Harry’s heart seemed to swell to dangerous sizes as his temporary deafness fell away and he could hear not only the ragged breathing of the boy he was kissing but the utter chaos that was around him.

They both broke away, still locked in each other’s embrace, finding themselves faced with sudden insanity.

The Slytherins were screaming, drawing wands and other things that made Harry grab Draco and move him away from the table and definitely away from a quickly advancing Pansy—stumbling directly into Ron and Hermione, who had apparently ran from the Gryffindor table.

Hermione looked awestruck and Ron just looked struck, like someone had just whacked him over the head with an anvil, but Harry didn’t have time to pay them any mind.

Amidst the scandalized or fawning Hufflepuffs, past the sniggering or fascinated Ravenclaws and beyond the roaring Gryffindors, Harry caught the twinking eyes of Dumbledore.

The professor was beaming at him, his blue eyes filled with something unrecognizable as he nodded at Harry, filling him with relief.

“Let’s go,” he muttered to Draco, who looked at him and nodded.

He grabbed Harry’s hand and they ran from the Great Hall, with what felt like the entire Hogwarts student body after them.

“This is you protecting me?” Draco teased, sprinting along with Harry down the hallways.

“You’ll be fine!” Harry grinned at him, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“You’re smiling again. Why are you smiling?”

Harry stopped, pulling Draco with him to lean against a corridor wall.

They rested together until they had caught their breath, Draco leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder and his heavy breathing trailing across Harry’s neck.

“Because you like me,” Harry answered his question, winding an arm around Draco’s shoulders and squeezing once. “It’s my lucky day.”

 

Isaac Newton was a genius. Harry quite thought he probably could see the future.

**Author's Note:**

> WELL I hope you liked all of that mess.
> 
> If you did, leave me a comment or kudos below! :)  
> Your choice. God I'm so tired.


End file.
